


you've got some kind of love (there's a good in your eyes)

by brahe



Category: Longmire (TV)
Genre: Coda, Episode: s03e03 Miss Cheyenne, Established Relationship, M/M, don't know don't care, how does this fit into the canon?, i just want them to be soft and emotional w each other, is that too much to ask, post episode, walt is an emotional mess™ what else is new
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:21:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26177143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brahe/pseuds/brahe
Summary: Walt takes an unsteady breath and feels the way Henry's lungs shudder where they're pressed chest to chest."I'm sorry," Walt murmurs, turning his nose to Henry's temple, shifting his hand to the back of Henry's head, inhaling deeply. He smells wrong, like ivory soap and unfamiliar detergent, like stale air and old blood, and Walt holds him tighter.Or,Walt and Henry afterMiss Cheyenne
Relationships: Walt Longmire/Henry Standing Bear
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	you've got some kind of love (there's a good in your eyes)

**Author's Note:**

> welcome fandom #30, i didn't need any more but im glad you're here. it's been so long since i binged a show and then longmire appeared and ive done nothing else for two days.  
> i've been working on a post s2e1 coda and then got distracted by the end of miss cheyenne and how much i wanted them to hug each other and then this happened  
> established relationship bc idk how to write anything else, and i just want them to be w each other
> 
> title from 1984 by night traveler

Walt takes him to the Red Pony, pulling into the back lot and parking in front of the back door. 

Henry looks at the building for a moment, then sighs, unbuckles, and slides out of the truck. Walt follows him, watching him as he ducks into the apartment entrance after him. 

"I think I can remember the way," Henry tells him, stopping in the little hallway between the doors to his office and the stairs to the apartment. 

_This isn't about you,_ Walt wants to tell him, and for all that it's selfish, it's true. He knows Henry is safe now – or, at least, he's trying to tell it to himself. Henry is back where Walt can look after him. 

"Yeah," Walt agrees. He takes his hat off, running his grip around the edges of it, fidgeting, waiting. 

Walt lets his gaze wander across Henry's face, the bruises that've already turned green and the ones that are still purple, the scabs and open cuts across his eyebrow, his cheekbones. It tears at his chest, the thought that this is his fault, all of this is _his_ fault–he's let Henry down yet again, and the evidence is staring right back at him. 

They stand there in the hallway, staring at each other, for a long moment, a heartbeat and another and another. Walt wants to hold him, wants to yell at him, wants to kiss him, to beg his forgiveness, all of them rising in him until the air around them snaps like lightning. Walt tosses his hat somewhere to the left and replaces it with Henry, the two of them crashing into each other like little hurricanes. 

Walt's arms wrap tight around Henry, one around his shoulders and the other around his waist, his hands bunching into fists in the loose plaid of Henry's shirt. Henry's own arms wind around Walt's waist, fingertips pressing into his back, his face pushed into Walt's shoulder. 

Walt takes an unsteady breath and feels the way Henry's lungs shudder where they're pressed chest to chest. 

"I'm sorry," Walt murmurs, turning his nose to Henry's temple, shifting his hand to the back of Henry's head, inhaling deeply. He smells wrong, like ivory soap and unfamiliar detergent, like stale air and old blood, and Walt holds him tighter. 

"I'm sorry, 'm sorry, 'm sorry," he continues, a twisted mantra of guilt he presses into Henry's skin.

"This is not your fault," Henry says, muffled into the leather of Walt's jacket. "I am the one who kept the teeth." 

Walt shakes his head. "You went to jail for me," Walt reminds him, emotion making his voice thick and heavy. "Christ, Henry, all of this is my fault." 

Henry smooths his hands over Walt's back, slow, gentle motions, and Walt has the distinct feeling of knowing he's about to cry just before it happens. He presses his nose firmer against Henry's temple and sucks in a breath through his teeth. 

"Walt?" Henry says, and really, Walt doesn't deserve him, his steadfastness, his loyalty, and certainly not his devotion.

"I'm sorry," Walt repeats, voice breaking. His shoulders shake with a sob he tries his hardest to bite back, and he buries his face in Henry's neck, hands so tightly fisted in his shirt he's sure his knuckles are white. 

"Walt," Henry repeats, and then he's shifting, hands finding Walt's face, holding him still as Henry pulls away enough to look at him. "Walt, dear heart, this is _not_ your fault." 

"How can you say that?" Walt asks, desperate, voice thick. He flickers his gaze around Henry's face, selfishly drinking in the sight of him, remembering and re-memorizing the shape of his eyes, the line of his nose, as his vision slowly fuzzes out, as his guilt slowly eats him alive. "How can you _say_ that?" 

Henry's hands are warm and familiar on Walt's cheeks, rough with the callouses of cowboys, and he rubs his thumbs over Walt's cheekbones.

"Easily," Henry tells him, like it's a simple thing to forgive someone so many sins, and he pushes forward to kiss Walt. Henry's lips are chapped, and Walt's are salty, and it doesn't matter. 

Henry moves his hands to hold Walt's head better, fingers wide over the sides of his face, fingertips in the fringes of his hair and thumbs still under his eyes, tilting his head a little to deepen the kiss. Henry's always been good at kissing, Walt knows, but this one's different, full of heavy things like desperation and fear and the guilt Walt carries like a sea. 

"Walt," Henry murmurs on a breath in the scant space between them. "Walter, my heart, it is okay. I am okay." 

He meets Henry's gaze, catching it between eyelashes and the blur of his nose, and the soft affection in his eyes forces a quiet, pained sound from his throat. 

"Let go, Walt," Henry urges him. "Let go, just for now." 

Walt shakes his head in short, aborted moves, and it brushes his nose against Henry's. "I'm supposed to look after you," Walt tells him, pained, tightening his hand in Henry's hair and pushing their foreheads together. "I'm supposed to take care of you." 

"You got me out," Henry says, rubbing at Walt's cheekbones. "You did, it is okay. Let go." 

Walt whines, a sharp, short sound, and gives in when Henry kisses him again, surrendering to the feeling of Henry's lips on his, Henry's heartbeat against his chest. It's easy, as it always is, giving into Henry and his warm hands and warmer heart. 

Henry guides the kiss into something with less of a sharp edge, soothes with his lips the emotions Walt has been unable to even fully process yet. He slides his hands down to Walt's neck, rubbing his thumbs just under Walt's jawline, and kisses him harder. 

Walt presses himself closer to Henry until there is no space between them, and yet he wants to be closer, _needs_ to be; the tighter he holds onto Henry, the less likely he can slip from Walt's grasp. 

Henry makes a soft noise Walt immediately recognizes as pain, and he instantly lets Henry go, stepping back and away from him. Henry's hands linger in the air for a moment, and he's looking at Walt in confusion that's quickly morphing to something else, something worse that Walt doesn't mean. He steps back, closer, reaching for Henry and running his hands slowly, lightly up his sides. 

"Where else are you hurt?" Walt asks, hardly more than a murmur, working to keep his anger from his tone. When Henry doesn't answer, Walt looks up, meets his gaze. "Where else, Henry," he repeats, a little dangerous. 

Henry sighs, and Walt watches as he unbuttons his flannel, gingerly tugs off his undershirt. His chest is a collection of green and purple spots, deep around the edges of his ribs, and Walt, for a moment, sees red. 

"Walt," Henry says, reaching back for his face. "You cannot protect me from something that has already happened." 

_Maybe not_ , Walt agrees to himself, watching his hands as he gently runs them over Henry's skin. He stops at a large bruise on Henry's ribcage, his hand half covering what looks like a boot print. Anger flares up in him again like a firework. _But I can make damned sure it won't happen again._

Henry wraps a hand around Walt's wrist, and he's watching him when Walt looks up. "Did anyone treat this?" Walt asks, directing his anger into something he _can_ do. 

Henry nods. "There is a doctor at the jail," he tells him. "He always did his best." 

Walt exhales, shoulders slumping, listing forward until his forehead lands on Henry's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he says, again. Walt hates apologies – they're hollow and meaningless, a bandaid after a bullet wound – but it is all he can think of to say now, to Henry, who bears the consequences of Walt's actions. 

"I know," Henry says, quiet and soft, "I know." 

He pulls Walt into another kiss, slower this time, sweeter. 

"Let me take care of you," Walt murmurs in the breath between kisses, a little desperately, gently pushing his nose into Henry's. "Please." 

He can see Henry's eyes flicking between the both of his before he speaks. "Only if it is not some way to punish yourself," he says, making harder eye contact with Walt. 

Walt shakes his head. He knows retribution is coming for him, one way or another, but not through this. This is much simpler than that; this is just Walt, and the only thing he's ever wanted to do in life is protect those he loves. 

"Please," he repeats, and he _needs_ Henry to agree, to say yes–

"Okay," Henry agrees softly, rubbing his nose back against Walt's. "Okay." 

Walt kisses him this time, the faint, needy sound he makes lost in Henry's mouth, and Henry lets him guide this one, yields to the soft, searching movements of Walt's lips. 

"Let me take you home," Walt murmurs, another request, fading his kiss to smaller, simpler ones.

"Please," Henry says, and Walt almost misses it, didn't expect Henry to give in so easily. He looks at Henry, wondering if he misheard, until Henry repeats himself. "Yes. Please." 

Walt kisses him one more time, hard and fast, before he steps back, because if he doesn't put space between them, they won't ever leave this hallway. 

"Stay here," Walt tells him. "Get dressed, I'll be right back." 

He feels Henry's eyes on his back as he leaves for the stairs, taking them two at a time. Henry's apartment is dusty, spared from the warrant searches and unused for several weeks even before Henry's jail time. 

Most things he needs are already at Walt's cabin, so he quickly fills a duffle with jeans and shirts before heading back down. 

Henry's waiting for him by the back door, wearing his jacket he retrieved from his office, and holding Walt's hat. 

When Walt's close enough, Henry settled the hat back onto his head, trailing his fingers down Walt's face. 

"Come on," Walt says quietly, and follows Henry back out into the afternoon snowfall.

Walt watches Henry from the corner of his eye as he tosses the duffle over the seat and straps in. Henry catches his gaze, and Walt hesitates for a moment before he's leaning over the center console, hand on the side of Henry's face to kiss him again, slow and mostly chaste. 

Henry follows him when he pulls away, pulling Walt back into another kiss with a hand on his arm, though it's over just after it started. They stare at each other, breathing each other's air until Henry settles back into the passenger seat, keeping his eyes on Walt. 

"Home, please," Henry says, and it squeezes something in Walt's heart. Henry is never, ever going back to prison, Walt thinks again. 

"Yeah," Walt says, taking the truck out of the lot and back onto the street. Henry's hand ends up on the console, and Walt threads their fingers together, easy as breathing. "Home."


End file.
